Bubble Wrap Deprivation
by FrUKing Awesome Canadian Hero
Summary: Steve missed out on so much while he was frozen; Tony, being the gracious human being that he is, takes it upon himself to teach the good Captain of the wonders of bubble wrap. Fluffy Stony oneshot; T for language and kissing.


**A/N: Whoo, first Avengers fic! And to my followers, I'm truly sorry for having dropped off the face of the earth for so long. There's just no legitimate excuse, so I'm not even trying.**

**Anyway. I was really debating over whether I should post this, because while the idea is cute, my writing style just doesn't work for this kind of stuff, and it's entirely possible that everyone is absolutely, hideously, and unmanageably out of character. So I'm really in need of feedback, be it good or bad. Drop me a review with any thoughts?**

* * *

The roof was his only place for solitude.

Sometimes Steve wondered if it had really been smart to move into Avengers Tower with the others, on the days when Tony deliberately hopped up to sit on the counter, swinging his legs in the most annoying way possible while Steve tried to make breakfast for the team, a grease stain already on his face and his rough hands smelling of citrus mechanic's soap. Steve rose early, but Tony rose earlier; only a few times in the five months since the Avengers had moved in had Steve not found a caffeine-high Stark in the kitchen, clearly already having spent at least an hour in his workshop before turning to the current task of annoying Steve as thoroughly as possible.

Once Bruce appeared, however, their combined efforts almost never failed to remove Tony from the countertop, and they managed to finish in relative peace, before Natasha materialized, Thor came stretching drowsily into the kitchen to rummage for his beloved box of Pop-Tarts, and Clint finally shuffled through the door, yawning widely and clearly still half-asleep.

Tony greeted him with an insult, hopping onto the counter again, and Steve would sigh, shaking his head and fighting the upward quirk of his lips. All places at the table were always already taken (honestly, why hadn't someone bought a bigger one by now?), so he ended up leaning on the counter beside Tony, glaring at the man every time he stole a piece of bacon from his plate, but honestly not able to bring himself to truly be annoyed with the situation. If Tony ate, it was good—seeing as he usually vanished into his workshop for three days at a time unless forced to do otherwise, Steve figured it was good for him to be getting something other than coffee of his own free will. Although he didn't think he'd ever quite understand why it had to be off of _his _plate.

Clint had yet to win a battle of the Breakfast Wars, although part of the reason may well be that he'd left his brain back in the top bunk of his room. Tony always had an insult ready for any response shot back at him, grinning as he won yet another victory. Steve watched him from the corner of his eye and hid his smile beneath an agitated eye-roll.

Tony's hair was never _not _a disaster; he couldn't cook to save his life, acted something akin to drunk if Steve allowed him too many hours in the shop, and had reprogrammed his microwave with an AI just for the hell of it.

Tony had been appearing more often in his sketchbook, lately, as well. In his times on the roof, he found himself thinking of Tony and his annoying little habits, or worrying about the last time he'd eaten, or wondering what exactly went on in that brain of his.

Most days it was safe here, to sketch Tony (when had he become _Tony_, instead of just _Stark_?) without worries of anyone finding out. If anyone joined him, it was usually Clint, who just sat on the edge and enjoyed the view of the city below.

Steve had begun to draw Natasha's cold eyes, watching him from the paper with a calculating gaze, and now he groaned, realizing who they'd turned into. Stark. Tony. _Tony._

He rolled his eyes and let his head fall back against the warm metal paneling behind him, but couldn't bring himself to erase it.

"What's up, Cap?"

Steve jumped at the voice beside him, looking up to see Tony standing there with his arms hidden behind his back and a suspicious smile on his face. Praying the blush that was creeping over his cheeks wasn't as obvious as it felt, he slammed his notebook shut, stuffing the pencil into the binding.

Tony's smile widened; too late. Steve blushed harder as the brunette flopped unceremoniously next to him, his warmth a welcome presence against the coolness of Manhattan's spring sky.

"So, did those artistic skills also come out of a bottle?" Tony asked lightly. Steve bristled for a moment, wondering why the hell he'd left his beloved workshop just to come up here and torment him, but Tony scooted away slightly and set a steaming bag of popcorn between them. A peace offering. Steve couldn't help his smile.

"Nah," he shrugged, a bit sheepish, fiddling with the corner of his sketchbook cover. "It was one thing I could do without getting beaten up."

Tony was silent for a moment, nodding, taking a handful of popcorn and offering the bag to Steve. He smiled, taking some. "So, what is the billionaire playboy philanthropist doing out of his workshop?"

Tony's eyes sparkled. "You forgot genius," he smirked. "And I just..."

...Shit. How could he word this so it didn't sound so idiotically saturated with feelings?

"You must get bored up here sometimes," he finished awkwardly, making Steve smile quietly and let his head come to rest against the warm metal of Avengers Tower.

"And what with being frozen for seventy years, I mean, you must be lonely because I don't know what the hell I would do if I just woke up and all my friends and everybody I knew was dead, and yeah I should probably quit talking now because I'm just screwing up so um—"

Tony snatched the popcorn bag and grabbed a handful, making Steve chuckle even despite the fact the billionaire had just poked at one of the deepest wounds that still seemed to refuse to heal. He didn't belong here, and he knew it. But still, the Avengers were slowly beginning to chase away the loneliness that his family, his friends, and Peggy had left in their wake.

Steve didn't realize how silent he'd fallen until a loud _pop _made him jump a foot in the air.

A second later Tony was leaning over with laughter, shaking his head and gasping something that sounded remarkably similar to "shit, Steve, why are you so adorable—?" between ragged gasps for air.

"_What?_" Steve demanded, but Tony just waved him off, still shaking with laughter. He pulled a sheet of shiny plastic from behind him, showing it to Steve, who eyed the strange, clear bubbles with suspicion. When Tony finally managed to calm himself down, still chuckling softly, he looked at the very confused and somewhat embarrassed Steve, who watched him with a light blush.

"It's bubble wrap," he explained, and the super-soldier raised an eyebrow. Tony chuckled again, shaking his head. "Invented in 1957. You have no idea what you're missing out on, Cap."

Smashing another bubble with another resounding _pop_, he waved the sheet of bubble wrap at Steve.

Eyebrow still raised, he reached out hesitantly, glancing up at Tony again, who appeared to be holding back another bout of laughter. Pressing another bubble, just as he'd seen Tony do, his brow furrowed when it gave way with nothing more than a meager _snap._

Tony was laughing again, and Steve blushed as he scooted closer, promptly moving the bag of popcorn from between them. "No, you have to _smash_ it," Tony insisted, showing him again. He nearly jumped. Steve prayed his face wasn't burning up like he thought it was, and grabbed another bubble on the other side of the sheet, jamming his thumb into it.

It broke with nothing more than a halfhearted hiss, and Steve frowned.

Tony frowned too, shaking his head. "No, Steve, like _this_," he murmured, grabbing Steve's hand and carefully aligning their fingers, pressing down on another bubble. His hands were every bit as rough as they looked, but his touch was gentle—Steve smiled a little at the memories of watching Tony work with impossibly tiny parts on You, Dummy, and Butterfingers.

Tony smelled good—like grease and strong citrus soap and musky cologne. His hair tickled Steve's cheek, and he held himself back from nuzzling it away.

"Like this," Tony murmured again, pressing on the bubble and promptly frowning as it deflated without so much as a halfhearted _snap_. Steve frowned too, glaring at the bubble wrap. Tony grabbed another bubble, smashing it quickly, but again, it gave only a weary hiss.

He growled, scooting away from Steve's side with the bubble wrap in hand, only to press the sheet down in Steve's lap and glare at it in determination.

"Pop them," he ordered, leaving no room for argument. Steve chuckled quietly at the seriousness of his voice, smashing another bubble with a small _snap_. Another; _hiss. _And another; silence. He frowned. _Hiss, snap, sigh, whistle._

_Pop._

A smile tugged at his lips, popping another bubble—this one, finally, with another satisfying _pop_.

Tony grinned at him with pride, sneakily reaching over to pop another bubble of his own, and Steve retaliated, and before either of them knew what was happening, the bubble wrap war of the ages had begun.

Tony practically dove into Steve's lap, systematically grabbing at bubbles, popping them in rows while Steve just smashed the ones he could reach, getting the hang of it and laughing as Tony frowned, trying to catch up. By the time the bubble wrap was nearly spent, Tony had somehow managed to be flopped across Steve's legs, sprawling out with the sheet of wilting plastic in one hand.

One bubble remained intact, at the very center of the sheet, and the two of them exchanged looks, an unspoken question floating into existence as blue eyes met brown. Tony finally nodded with mocking solemnness, holding up the sheet for Steve to take hold of.

"Together," he said seriously. The valiantly-resisted grin on his face completely ruined the effect.

Steve nodded gravely, fighting laughter, watching Tony more than anything—dark eyes framed by shining brown lashes, Arc Reactor giving off a faint blue glow through his shirt, chest rising and falling with his breaths.

There was just no way to deny that Tony was incredible.

The final bubble broke beneath their fingers with a small, rather anticlimactic _snap_, and Tony sighed, meeting Steve's gaze for another moment before falling back with a grin. Steve chuckled at the utter, sprawling lack of grace, shaking his head and letting his head fall back against the metal behind him. Tony lay in his lap for a minute more, before sighing and sitting up abruptly.

His nose nearly collided with Steve's, and the super-soldier's eyes shot open.

He nearly jumped back, but Tony didn't retreat, although he did look rather like a deer caught in headlights. They were so close; Steve took a slow breath, greeted with the scent of coffee on Tony's breath, ghosting over his lips, and that familiar aroma of mechanic's soap. Tony's warmth made his ability to speak, or apologize, or _something_, completely deteriorate.

Tony was fidgeting, hand awkwardly moving behind Steve's neck.

"Um, Steve, I— Well. I, um. Here."

And before Steve could even remember how to breathe correctly, Tony's mouth was on his.

He froze at the shock of warm, chapped lips against his own, but when Tony slowed and began to pull away uncertainly, he reached up to pull him closer, deepening the kiss. Tony sighed against his mouth, and Steve slid his arms around the brunette's waist, feeling the gentle pulse of the Arc Reactor against his chest. A small smile worked its way onto his lips at how absurd this entire situation was—the genius billionaire of the century and America's national icon, kissing on the roof of the highest building in New York over bubble wrap.

When Steve gently broke the kiss, Tony chuckled, letting his forehead rest against the super-soldier's and not even opening his eyes.

"How does schawarma sound for tonight?" he asked, and Steve laughed.

"Just you and me?"

Tony nodded. "Just you and me, Spangles."

* * *

"FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY, STARK,_ WILL YOU FUCKING QUIT THAT?_" Clint shouted, covering his ears to block out the crazed popping that had been going on since sometime that morning, poking his head into the living room. Sure enough, Steve and Tony were seated across from each other on the floor, popping bubbles in some alien form of tic-tac-toe.

"He has seventy years of bubble wrap deprivation to make up for, Birdbrain," Tony snapped, though he shot Steve a grin. "Shut up and leave us alone."

Steve looked down sheepishly, laughing quietly in spite of himself. Tony could be so incredibly rude when he felt like it.

A finger lifted his chin, and before Steve could ask what Tony was doing, the brunette had leaned across the sheet of bubble wrap and pointedly kissed him, popping another bubble as he did.

Clint groaned, slamming his head against the doorframe in frustration. "So help me, Stark, I will shoot you in the throat," he promised darkly. With a final glare in their direction, he slouched out of the living room and into the hall.

"_Nat, where the fuck is my Windex?_" he howled, sending Tony and Steve into a helpless fit of laughter.

* * *

**A/N: Also, I've got this headcanon that whenever Clint is stressed/pissed/generally not happy, he goes and washes windows; he loves the foamy Windex spray and he hates dirty windows, so whenever Tony wants his windows washed all he has to do is annoy Clint.**

**Anyway. Ahem. How was it?**


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